Best Queue Up Poems
At daybreak,
I approach the beach across a soft hill of clover,
past sleeping Pandanus palms,
and down a small sand dune.
I am enveloped by sea wind.
I look up to a flight of swallows - symbol of returning.
They occupy the airspace of seagulls.
A kookaburra laughs, somewhere to land-ward,
bringing fond memories of far off bushland.
A Malamute passes beside me,
pulling a woman on a long leash.
If she had a small sled she could mush
along this perfect white beach.
Tall lady pines grace the shoreline
their skirts just out of reach of sea water.
Seagulls sit in small conventions pecking free donuts.
They queue up for cups of coffee; I imagine
their grey wings tucked through Aloha shirts.
A German shepherd lopes, wolf-like, scatters them,
they swoop out to sea, laughing.
They'll be telling the folks back home
of their close call.
Now the sun's rays have reached the high rises,
awakening diamond fires from glass windows.
On the horizon, sunbeams reach down in straight lines
like sun-pictures from a child's storybook.
My imagination runs wild but my walk has ended,
as I climb the wooden ramp - back to the street,
alive for what my day holds.
Categories:
queue up, beach, good morning, growing
Form:
Free verse
A treasure of water surrounded by the mountains,
Is where my jolly grandpa resides,
Sea green water embellishes enchanting fountains,
And, the ducks swim around water slides.
The surreal vision of the majestic mountain lake,
From my grandpa’s wooden home,
How I wish time would apply a brake,
And, I receive the freedom to roam.
A horrific reality perturbs my dream,
As I walk closer to the lake,
Heaps of garbage block the main stream,
Putting the water quality at stake.
Engines of motor boats roar with might,
Tourists queue up, for an adventurous ride,
For fun, we sacrificed the right,
Look, our lake has dried and the ducks have died.
Our beautiful lake has stopped shedding tears,
Now that her children are deaf and blind,
Our ancestors preserved it for endless years,
Shamefully, we left our duties far behind.
The fishes in the lake stare at me,
With the hope that their ecosystem is secure,
A promise that I will make them free,
And, their home clean and pure
The earth beneath is slowly engulfing our lake,
Punishing us for our brutal and mindless actions,
When will we learn from our unforgivable mistakes?
Do we wait for nature’s disastrous reactions?
Categories:
queue up, 6th grade, dream, environment,
Form:
Rhyme
When Putin is telling the truth
The frogs queue up at the Kissing Booth
But the Russian Bear
Growls, "You should take care!
Vlad squirts cyanide from his tooth!"
Categories:
queue up, humor, political,
Form:
Limerick
I taught of it to be a day filled with ink and empty paper
Where ill paint myself rainbow
Blank paper scribbled with ink should rain upon me
In appreciation for the proper use of poetry
Today every word play will queue up in a cemetery
Exhuming words buried in my archive
To march forth to me for their salary
For they slaughtered for me every life alive.
World Poetry Day |2020
©Pensayf
Categories:
queue up, 4th grade, africa, art,
Form:
Free verse
The Nit nurse would come around once a month
To my primary school usually after lunch
We'd all queue up in a line
All the kids and friends of mine.
One by one the nurse would examine our hair
Once in a while the scruffier one's in the class
Were given a brown paper bag and letter for their mum
And told to run home fast.
You could say I was a bit slow
But it took me years before I got to know what was in that
Brown paper bag.
I never got one myself
My hair must have been in perfect health
But I don't know why but I'm suddenly beginning to itch
I swear and it's not just my hair
Do you feel itchy now too?
OOh.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015.May.
Categories:
queue up, hair, humor, humorous, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Oh the joys of an airport trolley
I try and push it oh what a folly
The wheels always have a life of their own
I’ve not got off the ground I just want to go home
I want it to go left but it goes off to the right
I give in to its stubbornness; I really don’t want a fight
At last I reach the check in I can leave the trolley behind
Farewell you metal monster you drove me out my mind
I queue up at the check in to get my boarding pass
Hope they don’t scrutinise my photo I really look an ass
No I’ve not got any liquids and I packed the bag myself
Oh damn I’ve left my travel sickness pills on the kitchen shelf
Now its through security oh how I do hate that
Remove your belts and boots, your scarf and your hat
Make sure you put your liquids in a plastic bag
Without my Oil of Olay I look a real old hag
In the departure lounge your pocket takes a hit
Have you seen the cost of a cuppa – it takes the mick a bit
You sit around for ages and hope that there is no delay
I just want to board the plane and go on holiday
Herded up like cattle when you hear the flight number call
I climb the aircraft steps carefully so I don’t take a fall
Squeeze into the aircraft seat and buckle up your belt
Hope the pilot knows their stuff and your last card’s not got dealt
Finally the plane takes off and you are in the air
Thirty minutes flight time for an exorbitant fare
Finally you land and you reach your destination
Time to relax and sit back and enjoy your vacation.
Jan Allison
30th April 2014
Categories:
queue up, flying, humorous, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
The Day is Over
I stand at the edge of the abyss,
If I jump, will I fly or fall?
There was a time his love carried me,
Today, silence answers my call
Now memories are all that I own,
Love came calling, but didn't stay long,
The day is over, and all that's left
Is the echo of love's dying song
I keep those memories close to me,
I don't want to be alone tonight,
I'll let them sleep on his pillow,
And together, we'll face morning's light
Memories are a haven from the storm,
Safe mooring on a restless sea,
My lips will once again touch his,
Sorrow's phantoms will set me free
Once in a while, I need to recall
How the song of love used to play,
I must not forget that melody,
It's what carries me through each day
A hundred good-byes run through my mind,
Though he left me with not one farewell,
My abandoned heart has turned to dust,
The day is over..... night turns to hell
Lora Colon
January 14, 2015
And A New Day Is Coming
How many dear souls have stood on that ledge
Each of them wondering what happens next,
Thinking the silence is their only friend
And filled with cold fear that this is the end.
But his love never brought Grace to your life,
Only your qualities brought him to you,
Though you may fault all these memories now,
Your memory's also part of him too.
With so many memories how can love die,
Though both lover’s expectations may cry?
If you're in his reverie why such deep sigh,
Was it only in your mind that he said good-bye?
So why all this anguish embracing a lie?
No lover's entitled to ever own Love,
For just like with beer, Love is only for rent,
We queue up with Yeats for our carnival pass
And marvel with William where love pitched its tent.
Hold on to the melodies that Love once played
By now you should know it is your music too,
Though nightfall may whisper that gold too can rust,
With sunlight and rain, mustard seeds break that crust.
Brian Johnston
January 27, 2015
Poet's Notes:
Lora Colon's poem from her site on PoemHunter.com reprinted here with her permission. This Echo Poem is one of many that she and I have co-authored. We invite you all to check them all out now that they are finally published together as I had originally envisioned.
Categories:
queue up, love,
Form:
Rhyme
~~~~~~~~~~ *-* ~~~~~~~~~~
Suspire at ease
Queue up - STAND like nothing's awry
Suspire at ease
You're in trek of unfeigned sentience
Never croon unsung poetry
Abscond from death's periphery
Suspire at ease.
~~~~~~~~~~ *-* ~~~~~~~~~~
================================
*-* (0.0) jun-jun villanueva
*-* (0.0) " RONDELET " contest
Categories:
queue up, death, life
Form:
Rondeau
What if....?
Death was a lottery,
With a Powerball price of a million dollars
Will people still queue up to play?
What if death was a clock, and you had one option
To either fast forward, pause, or rewind it; What will your option be?
What if death was a bank, and one could advocate with it;
Request death forgiveness, death deferment, or death forbearance?
What about death refinancing or death equity?
What if death was like a touch tone phone
And one could put death on hold;
Press zero to bypass mesmerizing angels of death at the reception;
And pally or advocate directly with death?
What if death was a court,
And one could ask for an interlocutory injunction,
Or death arbitration, death adjournment or deferment?
What if death was a wish,
Will beggars still elect to ride, or bolt like Usain?
What if death was cash and carry,
Will the rich, high and mighty,
Be so generous with their cash, as they are to brand names like:
Ferrari, Bugatti and Louis Vuitton?
Or will they chicken out like a cold Turkey?
What if death was a rain check
Will people Queue up to cash in on it?
What if death was like a set of clothes
And one could change from it
Like a Snake discards it's old and worn out skin?
What if death was a marathon
Who would elect to first breast the tape?
What if death was a school or an exam,
And one could do a remediation, carry death over,
Select another elective, or take a death sabbatical?
What if death was a widow,
Will people still accept a widows mite? What if.....?
Categories:
queue up, art, death, extended metaphor,
Form:
Prose Poetry
We British love to stand in queues
We are known through out the world for it.
It must be something in our genes
We have tried all the other means.
Nobody teaches us what to do
We just line up when we see a queue.
The trouble starts with our foreign cousins; they look on us amused,
Then they walk to the front, ingnoring us and bypass all the queues.
Excuse me Sir or Madam, we say but you should be at the back,
‘What on earth for when I can walk in, you know what you can do with that!’
Fury starts to raise and feet begin to tap,
I am sorry Sir/Madam, but you must join at the back.
The door opens and we see just what we are queuing for,
It is the ladies services but then she grabs the door.
Our foreign cousin jumps in, what a nice neat trick
And locks the door behind her, it was ever so quick.
There is a murmur from the queue,
I’d tell her off if I was you.
Don’t you worry I’ll do that when she comes back on out
I’ll stop the lady on exit, but then I here the shout.
You’ve missed another spot you dolt, just let the woman go.
Oh not again why was I so slow.
So to all our foreign cousins when, in England you arrive,
Please don’t forget to queue up here, if you want your holiday to survive.
Categories:
queue up, funny, life, cousin,
Form:
Couplet
Dedication
Perseverance of the intense bees;
and iron-will of the frisky spider,
Tiny self disciplined ants queue up;
ascend cliffs in endeavour,
Subtle Moth embraces flame;
while robust win the muscle game,
Passion at borders sets ablaze;
high heaps of enemies at the gate,
Dedicated heroes of war return;
as twenty-one cannons decorate.
Written Feb 21, 2018
By Dr. Upma A. Sharma, India
Categories:
queue up, devotion,
Form:
Rhyme
Losing self
I lose myself
In many colours of my child's laughter
In soft caress of those candid smiles
In sleepless nights of innocent cries,
I lose myself
On busy roads that once led to school
On weekends usually long awaited
On festivals and family celebrations,
I lose myself
As I pass by the shopping malls
As I wait outside of cinema halls
As I queue up for Nando's n chillies,
I lose myself
To relive memories etched in time.
Written October 31, 2018
© Dr Upma A. Sharma
Categories:
queue up, childhood,
Form:
Free verse
The afterglow of the polls
Has refused to leave the sky
The euphoria like never before
Still tingles my countrymen.
Some are elated
At the dire switch
From ‘business as usual’
Others draw gore
With their senseless machete
That victory does not befit the chosen.
And they hide within fanaticism.
But the blood of the ten
And others are crying.
Come next dance,
The voice behind the heads
Of the vagabonds would
Come out like a masquerade
To dance again.
And voter will queue up
Like zombies in blood-stained
Corps Members costumes to
Teach them one more lesson.
Categories:
queue up, allegory, political,
Form:
Free verse
Who knows who would
'true valiant be'
when you can't see
beyond the end of your nose?
who knows?
It has to be Sunday some day
and today is some day for some
hymns and hers (towels in the bathroom)
down the stairs
toast and preserves in the conservatory
not mandatory
but it's Sunday.
God must be reeling in shock
wondering what he has done
Jesus is getting the backlash
it's always a Sunday for some.
I'm going to queue up for my
holy wine and wafer
it's
safer not to sit upon the fence
and where else can you find this
kind of entertainment
for a pound or even less,
for fifty
pence?
beyond when I pass into
poets corner
where the monks and Friars
sort wheat from the chaff
I shall laugh
I shall rhyme
have a bloody marvellous time
Who knows who
'..would true valiant be..'
Categories:
queue up, god, jesus, religion, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
nothing sums up a
quitter like s/he who
invests themselves in
“the lesser of two evils,”
bathing themselves in
supposed pragmatism,
walking with an illusion
of certainty that when
faced with two choices,
rather than demand a
third, or demand to
have a different system of
choosing altogether, or
even more, to throw up
the whole puzzle in the
air to watch it come crashing
down into blissfully
destructive & completely
deserved chaos, it is
more “appropriate” to
cave, queue up &
follow in line, one step
in front of the other off the
conveyor belt & into the
meat grinder, in hopes
that the safe little world
of comfort in which
one dwells will not be
upset.
Categories:
queue up, life,
Form:
Free verse